Je L'adore
by MargaritaVille108
Summary: A tale of Bill and Fleur and the day they met.


I loved the part in "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" when Fleur chooses to stay with Bill despite his scars. I know this focuses a lot on the superficial, but I tried to get it across that there was more to it.

I'm sorry if there are any spelling or grammatical errors or if I went off canon. Please, if you can, review. I'd really appreciate it! Thanks for reading!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters in this story. All the credit belongs to the brilliant Mrs. J.K. Rowling.

Je L'adore

Fleur sighed as she skimmed through yet another property paper only understanding half the words on it. She took the job at Gringotts, filing papers recording each family's possessions kept at the bank and, according to the family, each items value, to help her with her English. She only worked part time—three days a week, but those days were awful. They dragged on. She didn't even think her English was improving much. The wizards that passed through to withdraw or deposit money and valuables spoke far too quickly for her to understand and the goblins spoke to each other in their own language more often than English. The only words she had completed mastered were the ones the goblins spoke to wizards: withdraw, key, cart, vault and other matters concerning the bank. Fleur was fully confident should she decide to make Gringotts her permanent residence, she would be fine, but outside in Diagon Alley, was a different story. Every day spent in Gringotts affirmed Fleur's distaste for Britain. Fleur was always homesick. Everything in France was better—the houses, the food, the clothing.

Fleur's sulking was interrupted when she heard a hearty laugh. She looked towards the direction from where it was coming. She smiled. There was one thing that wasn't better in France. France didn't have _him_. Fleur was used to all sorts of men ogling her, but she rarely ogled them back. He, however, was different. He was the only thing she enjoyed about Gringotts. Fleur remembered the first time she saw him at Hogwarts before the final task. She normally considered herself attracted to men who gave off a certain heir, not haughty, but more aristocratic, tall, dark hair, elegantly dressed. He was so different—flaming, long, red hair, freckles, and an earring—perfect. She only saw him from far away so she thought that perhaps like a great number of men she met, he would be disappointing close up, but she was wrong.

It was her second week working at Gringotts. She knew there was going to be a new man coming, but it didn't interest her much. Apparently he was a curse-breaker in Egypt. She couldn't fathom why he'd choose to come to Britain for a desk job over such an adventurous job as the one in Egypt, unless he was too old to do the job anymore. Most of the "men" working at Gringotts who were over 3ft tall were older than her grandfather. Two hours into her day, she was already disgusted, as usual, but then she saw him—certainly not the brittle, old wizard she pictured. He had a ponytail, fang earring, and wore dragon hide boots. He arrived around noon. Although Fleur was sure the goblin showing him his new desk was probably rude and repulsive, he kept smiling. She watched him intently the entire day. "Vy vould 'e come 'ere? Ze other job must 'ave been so much more exciting," she thought to herself. She could tell he seemed bored, (She wasn't sure what his job was. It looked relatively similar to hers—filing all day) but he was always smiling—always chatting with witches and wizards passing by or telling jokes to other colleagues or stories from Egypt. Fleur of course never joined in the fun. She only admired him from afar.

"Excuse me," a deep voice called from below Fleur's desk.

"Oui?" Fleur strained her neck to peer over the desk. She could make out a small, wrinkled face staring up at her. Though she saw them every day, every time Fleur looked at a goblin she wanted to shriek.

"Ms. Delacour" its small, slanted eyes narrowed. "May I suggest that you keep up with your paper work instead of keeping up your appearance all day," he gestured to her hand which was subconsciously stroking her hair. His spindly hand shoved a five inch thick stack of paper at her. "Or I'll see if we can find you a better position—perhaps cleaning the carts."

"Excuse moi, but I look dis beautiful without vorking on my appearance," she accepted the papers tossing her long, silvery hair behind her shoulders. The goblin glared and set off the other way.

"'Orrid little man," she murmured to herself as she began filing the papers.

"Don't take it to heart," a voice stated from in front of the desk, "They're nasty to everyone." Fleur's eyes followed the voice to the figure standing in front of her. She smiled weakly. It was him.

"Mer..," she reminded herself to not speak in French, "Thank you. You know I do really vork 'ard on dese papers, but zey are sometimes 'ard to understand. English is not my first language. Zat is vy I got a job 'ere."

"Ah. Really?"

"Oui. Yes." He laughed again—that perfect laugh.

"Don't worry, you'll get it. I'll even help you."

"Really?" Fleur felt her cheeks warming. They looked nice with a natural blush, but she didn't want it to be too noticeable. She didn't feel embarrassed or inferior around many people, but around him she certainly was.

"Oui," he laughed at himself. "We should start by learning your basic foods. Go to lunch with me?" Although she found the food at the local cafes inadequate to the food she was used to, she was sure that she wouldn't notice how bad it tasted when he was there.

"Zat vould be vonderful," she smiled. He smiled.

"Well then," he looked at his watch, "I get off for lunch in about a half hour. I'll meet you…how does right here sound?"

"Lovely," she said.

"Great. Well, see you then Ms.?" he titled his head and read her nameplate. "Delacour."

"Fleur," she answered. "Oh no," she thought to herself. She suddenly remembered she didn't know his name. He did have a nameplate, but it was too far away for her to read.

"Bill Weasley by the way," he called as he walked towards his desk.

_Bill Weasley. Such a funny name—Weasley. It sounded familiar. Oh well. It didn't matter if his name was funny. He was still perfect._


End file.
